


waiting for you.

by spacewars



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Feat. The Lovely Smol Jason, Gen, Major character death - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-13
Updated: 2018-08-13
Packaged: 2019-06-26 21:23:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15671559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacewars/pseuds/spacewars
Summary: Apparently, Bruce is dead. For real this time.Or, Bruce gets a chance to right his wrongs.





	waiting for you.

**Author's Note:**

> This was actually inspired by a book I read, called Five People you meet in Heaven and oh, boy that book messed me up. Anyway here's a really quick fic on the idea with the same premise, I guess. For Jason Todd Birthday Week (2018) : Supernatrual.

 

**Time: 4:35am**

 

It starts with Jason, _Fake_ Jason because-

 

Next week is Jason’s five year anniversary. Next week, Jason dies _again_ in Bruce’s mind while Dick takes his siblings out for lunch, while Alfred takes a day off for rest, _while_ Bruce lets the guilt tear his soul into two, into three as another hour passes, into four as the sun sets and into five when Bruce clips the Batman suit to his skin. Next week all of his children stay home in an effort to honor the boy who never made it.

 

And it’s fake Jason who stares at him, with tattered shoes, and ripped jeans, presses his lips together, puts his hands on his hips and shakes his head. “You’re not supposed to be here.”

 

And Bruce thinks, _that_ , at least they have in common.

 

**Time: 4:52am**

  
Apparently, Bruce is dead. For real this time.

 

Dead, as in not breathing, Dead as in the afterlife, and Jason takes a breath, explains that here is different, that the rules are different, that you live in your favorite memory, that you talk to the people that mattered most to you, that you have a good life and guide those that pass through. That, what he’s been doing, that's what he's been waiting to do when Bruce arrives. But apparently, Bruce had arrived to early, apparently, Bruce had died to early.

 

And it’s fake Jason who tells him, who has all the mannerisms of real Jason, of dead Jason, and Bruce throat clenches when Jason starts unthreading the edge of his pants, then stops, and starts playing with his fingers, and Bruce thinks of the boy that was small enough that his feet used to dangle when he sat on the kitchen chair.

 

And the irony in that makes his throat clinch, makes his blood boil, makes his heart shatter.

 

“It’s nice seeing you again, B.” Jason says, then rolls his eyes when Bruce presses his hands to the edge of his ears. He’s having a mental breakdown, must be, he must have hit his head to hard somewhere, and is probably bleeding out on the pavement- and the boy even slurs his _S's_ like Jason did.

 

“You're not real.” Bruce says, and Jason laughs, one that Bruce hasn't heard in years, one that makes Bruce’s gut curl onto himself, one that makes it tightens and untighten, one that makes him feel raw and human, one that reminds him of the son that died, the same son that he had gotten killed. “I’m as real as I can be.”

 

“Why haven’t you aged?”  

 

And Jason’s quiet, furrows his eyebrows and stares at the lapping water on the shoreside, like it's the water that asked the question, like it's the water that's in front of him, and Bruce takes a breath, then another, and there's no one there, no one in Gotham but them - and Jason presses his lips together when he says. “How long has it been?”

 

“5.” He doesn't say five anything. He thinks the boy gets it.

 

 And Jason smirks, one that reminds Bruce of the time that he told Two-Face that he’ll shove the quarter up his asshole if he steps on his cape one last time. And perhaps if it wasn’t for Bruce holding onto the edge of his cape, for Bruce hands on his shoulder on times like that he would have perhaps  tried. “I never said I was alive. I just said I was real.”

 

“I’m not dead.” Bruce says, repeats this again like a mantra, because the last thing he remembers is a car, the sound of wheels, and the airbag, but Batman can't die like that, won't die like that, and Jason snorts, dangling his feet over the banister and Bruce grits his teeth. “I’m not dead, I’m just-“

 

“Losing your mind-“

 

And Jason lips twitch, like he heard the same thing over again, and Bruce lets out a sigh, a grunt, and rubs his temples, and curses the headache that's starting to build.

 

**Time: 5:20am**

 

They walk through the woods, onto the manor’s forest, and Bruce thinks that his toes would ache if they could. But Death is relentless here, and there are no feeling of tiredness in his bones, no ache that comes from fighting crime. He is awake in all the ways he used to be, and he swallows down the fear that comes with that. If he is dead, if death is all that is left for Bruce, then what about his kids? What about Gotham? And Fake Jason says nothing while they walk just glances back like he expects Bruce to be the one that disappears.

And Bruce thinks that's fair. He's doing the same.

 

**Time: 5:48am**

 

“You have grown, Chum,” Thomas says, smiles and wraps his arms around Bruce’s shoulders, and looks at him the way Alfred does when he thinks Bruce isn’t looking, looks at him the way Bruce looks at Dick and Tim, Steph and Cass, Jason and Damian and something in Bruce aches, tightens, and cracks, and Bruce wants to wrap his arms around his father and never let go, wants to cry and feel the warm hand on his shoulder, Bruce wants to be free, wants to tell his father how much he missed him, how much he still misses him but he does nothing, wants a lot of things - but needs nothing and stands still when Thomas takes his hands away.  “It’s nice to see you after all these years.”

 

“Look at you,” Martha says, and her voice is quiet, and brittle, and Bruce understands what he looks like, dressed in shoddy clothes, and wrapped in scars, and Bruce for the first time in a long time, feels underdressed. “You’re a man now.”

 

 _But I’m not_ , Bruce wants to say, _I’m still your child, I will always be your child, I never stopped being your child and I don’t want to,_ but he swallows his words, swallows his tongue, and nods stiffly because this isn’t real, shouldn’t be _real,_ but his father is alive, and breathing beside him and his mother is smiling in a way that makes her eyes crinkle, and Bruce rubs the nap of his neck. “It’s been a long time since you seen me.”

 

“It has,” Martha agree’s, touches her fingers to his cheeks, and - and it’s just like it used to be, soft, and warm, and Bruce wants to lean into her touch, wants to feel his mother’s hugs again and she smiles. “But you’re here now, that’s all that matters.”

 

**Time: 6:34am**

 

They catch up, and Bruce tells them of his children, of Alfred, and Wayne Enterprise, and even Axe, and the other monstrosities Damian brings him, and each time, his mouth carves around Batman, carves around the man he had become, Martha’s eyes crinkle when she laugh, and he watches Thomas bite back a smile, and he bites hard on the word, on the man, on the secret and swallows.

 

**Time: 7:12am**

 

By the time they go inside, Jason’s deep in a plate of chili dogs, and doesn’t look up when Thomas ruffles the boys hair, and Martha sits beside him and Bruce swallows, and thinks of Alfred and the boy who should have never died, who should have grown up to the point that his feet touches the floor, that should smack Bruce’s hand away from ruffling his curls, that Bruce could have driven to prom with his first date, that the boy should have grown, should have been able to, if Bruce had been better, if Bruce had been quicker.

 

And Bruce sits across from him, and Jason grins from across the table and Bruce thinks of the boy who had sit on the other side of the table, eyes narrow and untrustful, who wouldn't touch any of his food that Alfred set on top of the table till Bruce took a bite first, and Bruce's the first to look away, to break eye contact.

 

**Time: 7:45am**

 

“He stays with us sometimes when he’s lonely.” Thomas eyes the boy, the boy who doesn’t need to sleep anymore, because he’s dead, because the rules of life doesn’t claim him, because Bruce had been to late, hadn’t showed he cared enough, hadn’t been the father Jason needed when Jason had needed him most and Bruce burrows that truth under Batman’s facade and let’s it tear him apart when he is alone. “We asked him to stay with us all the time- but the boy likes his freedom.”

 

“Jason always has.” Bruce agreed, and he had let him, had stepped back when Jason had pushed him away, had given Jason the ballpark, thought that’s what his father would have done, what his father would have wanted- and then Jason went to Ethiopia, hurt, and angry, and Bruce had lost him. And Bruce wonders if Jason need for freedom was his own cry for help, if he was too deaf to hear it. “But- But I never- I gave him to much, and now he’s here.”

 

_With you._

 

“You want me to tell you what you should have done, Bruce.” Thomas says, presses his lips together and shakes his head and he hesitates when he puts his arms around Bruce, like he doesn’t know how to comfort his own son anymore, and maybe Thomas doesn’t. It’s been more than twenty years since he had too. “I _won’t_. You made a choice, you meant well, Bruce. And that’s - that’s more than most men would have done.”

 

“But I didn't saved him,”

 

And Thomas eyes flick to Jason, flicks to the boy who’s now talking eagerly to Martha about a book he read, about how the book was much better than the movie, and if they just stayed to the source material - and Martha is nodding her head, and ruffling his hair, and Bruce feels his chest burn when he realizes that this is the family that Jason should have with him, up there (or down there, he’s not sure), that he never got to meet most of his brothers, or his sisters, or anyone.

 

And Thomas shakes his head, gives Bruce a look that’s filled with pity, and says, “You can’t save everyone.”

 

But he could have saved Jason. Bruce could have _saved_ him and that means a lot more to him then any of his father’s words.

 

**Time: 8:48am**

 

They stay for another hour, but Bruce feels the pull, the stretch in his gut that tells him to keep moving, that apparently, Death or his conscious or whomever, wants him to keep moving, knows that he must keep moving, that time is short, and Thomas, and Martha, and Jason must feel it too, because they wind down around each other, slows the conversation down till Bruce can feel Martha’s and Thomas goodbye in the air.

 

Martha packs them a bag, presses her lips to Bruce’s cheeks, and smiles when Bruce feels the familiar sense of heat rise in them when she wraps her arms around him, pulls back and says - “Be safe, Brucie-“ and ruffles Jason curls, and says- “Come visit us soon, Jay.”

 

“Were we walking too now, Chum?” And Jason- fake Jason, he corrects himself grins in a way that makes everything around them lopsided, and Bruce swallows, when Jason says. “Up to you B.”

 

**Time: 9:05am**

 

Jason scoffs when he explained how the manor had changed, when he told him of his brothers and sister and how Gotham was, (And Bruce leaves out the fact that he visits his grave every month, begs on the soil for forgiveness, begs the tombstone to tell him that it'll be okay, B. Begs the boy to come back.) and Jason grins and asks if Dick still dresses like a tool, and Bruce let his eyes wain over the horizon, over the forest and the tree - Because Jason shouldn’t being say this to him, Jason should be saying this to _Dick_ and Bruce should be back in the batcave, acting like he isn’t hearing Jason push Dick buttons, and he doesn’t hear Dick grind his teeth together- and- And Jason shouldn’t be here.

 

**Time: 9:27am**

 

“Do you blame me?” Bruce says, and the sun drapes herself over Gotham’s sleeping body, fills in her crooks and crevices, and the gaps and the holes, and Gotham thanks her by pulling all the stars in the sky, all the darkness into the skyscrapers and building around them. Bruce wonders if all the lights are on because he wants them to be, because it would make him feel lonely, because if there not, Bruce’s going to have to come to grips with everything.

 

“For what happened with the Joker?” Jason’s asks, and they made it to the main streets of Gotham, keeps walking through the Gotham streets, watches the air tunnel garbage off the ground and into the missing stores and Bruce nods, because his words are not enough right now. His words mean nothing when he says them, because Bruce has never been able to say the right ones, to say the ones that could fix, and heal. Bruce only knew words of war, and it showed by the scars on his skin.

 

“You had let the Joker live. And I- I thought I was. I thought I was worth more to you- then just.” Jason stops, and Bruce stops too, and Jason takes a shallow breath, stares at Gotham, like a child, (Because he is a child, Bruce thinks.) and Bruce feels the guilt crash down on his soul and make its home in his gut. “And then you- you replaced me. Like I was nothing with _Tim-“_

 

 _“_ You were never replaced.” Bruce says, no one can replace Jason, the guilt, the love that he had felt for the boy, for his son and he grips Jason’s shoulders and the boy blinks.

 

“You are my son, Jason.” Bruce says, and Jason frowns, closes his eyes for a moment and nods, “I know that- I know that _now_. Death - she showed me- and- I let you down.”

 

And Bruce wonders if he was ever a good father to him, if he ever had been what Thomas was to Bruce. And this _wrong_. It should not be going this way, it should not be Jason. It should have never been Jason and he lays his hand over the boys shoulder, feels the way the bone proads out of his skin, and Jason had died before Bruce could fix that too. ”You dying was never your fault.”

 

Jason blinks, and nods, stares at Gotham like she’s the one who let him go to Ethiopia alone, like she’s the one who gave Jason Robin only after six months and had taken it away in two years, like she’s the one who let Jason go down the path and did nothing to stop it. “Are you mad at me now?”

 

“I _was_ mad at you,”  Jason sniffles, he turns gives Brice a timid smile, like Bruce had made a comment on how his kick had been improving, how the good use of his environment had helps them take Two Face down quickly and Bruce smiles back just the same. “Now, I'm just happy to see you, Old man.”

 

Bruce doesn’t think he’s supposed to hear it, that the words that escape Jason’s mouth next aren’t quite for his ears, but Bruce has always been Batman with or without the suit, and his gut tightens, twist itself into knots when Jason mutters, “It gets lonely down here.”

  
And Bruce finds himself not caring if Jason’s real or fake, dead or alive, because he’s here. And that matters more than anything.

 

**Time: 9:54am**

 

They move on through Gotham, walking, walking through a city that is far to quiet, quiet enough that it doesn’t feel like Gotham. Like a bad imprint by a poorly made artist. This is not his home, this is not the world he promised to protect, an architect of a memory, but Jason looks the same, act the same, and that, Bruce knows must be his son, and if that's his son, then this is Death, and Bruce swallows, the pain that comes with that too, and says, "Who have you meet, Jason?"

 

And Jason blinks but says, “Catherine. A lady from my library- that was _weird._ Mama Gunn too.” Jason says, ticking the names off with his fingers, he’s playing it careful, but Bruce notices the way each of his fingers tremble and Bruce pretends that it doesn’t hurt.”The first person I saw down here was Willis, though.”

 

And Bruce thinks of the man who cared nothing for his son, who had possibly never wanted a son but had gotten one anyone. A man who had given birth to a tragedy, and had watched it unfold. But then again, who said Bruce was any better. “What did he want?”

 

“To talk.” And Jason stares down at his shoes, at the small bust on the bottom and the tears on the side and runs his hand through his hair. “I gave him a uppercut.” And Jason grins, “Just like you taught me.”

 

And Bruce licks his lips, remembers the boy who had spent all night practicing on a dummy till he had surprised Bruce as they trained, who had one upped on Bruce without trying “You taught that yourself.”

 

And Jason laughs, tilts his head back and laughs and Bruce wants to keep this with him forever, keep his son with him, forever. But this is not his realm, he isn’t Batman here, he’s Bruce Wayne, the Orphan, Bruce Wayne, the failing father, Bruce Wayne is powerless like he always has been. “I’m glad you got closure with your father.”

 

And Jason stares at him, eyes wide, and there emotion there, one’s that Bruce can’t figure out because Batman was never for talking, Batman defended and protected, ended wars and started new ones. Robin, that’s always been a Robin job, pulling the people back on their feet, comforting those that needed, and it’s Robin that should have been invincible never Batman.  “He‘s not my Father, B.”

 

It should have been Bruce down here, not Jason. Never Jason.

 

**Time: 10:10am**

 

They stop in a apartment building, one that reminds him of a shack, it's not far from Crime Alley, it's not far from the poor of Gotham, from the unfortunate and the thugs and Jason takes one look at it, and says,“I’ll meet you outside,”

 

And Jason starts picking at his shoes that's  falling apart, and Bruce wants to tell him that they’ll find a new store, something that Jason can wear in the meantime, but Bruce know’s, has an idea that Jason wants to look like this, that Jason wants to be still Jason if he can, and Jason kicks his shoes against a rock that goes tumbling back into a the street, and looks ahead at a slanted building in disgust. “This is only for you, Bossman.”

 

And Bruce flicks his eyes to where’s he’s looking, watch the paint break onto the ground, watch the shack threaten to fall onto itself and he knows he never been here, never saw this place in his life, and it’s not Bruce memories that there stepping upon and It’s not Jason either, and Bruce feels his spine tingle underneath the anticipation. “Who’s in there?”

 

Jason grimaces, opens his mouth to say something then closes it. There is something familiar about his actions when he wraps his arms around his chest, like he’s hiding himself from the world. He even makes a effort to shoo Bruce away when he doesn’t move.“Go in and find out.”

 

He leaves Jason alone, for the first time since he been here, even if he doesn’t know what here is and Bruce tries to hide the need to keep looking back, tries to hide the fear that Jason will leave before he gets to say goodbye again.

 

**Time: 10:12am**

He knows that man, knows that face like he knows his own, knows that’s face because his nightmares show it again like clockwork, because each thug, each of his villains are him, in his mind, in his psyche. And the man turns, gives Bruce a smile, and Bruce thinks that he dreams of that too, had dreamed as a child of wiping it off of his face, had dreamed of punching each chipped, yellow, black tooth till that too falls out onto the ground like his parents did.

 

“Bruce,” Joseph - Joe - says, and Bruce “I’m not expecting this you early.”

 

And Bruce shrugs, clenches his fingers into a fist and says- “You’re the second person to tell me that today.

 

And Joseph laughs, and Bruce thinks of the gun the man had held to his parents face, to the useless money that he had stolen, to the unknown robber who hadn’t known that his parents were worth more alive then dead. To there son and the world. “Well I guess it must be true then.”

 

“What do you want?”

 

"To talk."

 

And Bruce clinches his jaw and his fist, looks around the apartment and the mold and dirt in the corner, the wilting paint and the dying flowers, and Bruce thinks of the man who had to be desperate enough to kill a mother and father in front of their child. "Then Talk."

 

Because Bruce has nothing to say, nothing that will bring back his parents, nothing that he wants more to have talked to them, not here but in real life, in the grass and the garden of the manor, to have introduced his kids to there grandparents, to watch there face while they grew up. And Joesph smiles, and says, "You have no questions, No. Why did you do it."

 

"No."

 

And Joseph raises an eyebrow, gives Bruce a look that makes him want to bare his teeth like a child, that makes him want to feel the pain that Bruce had carried for years, had added onto as time passed. “I made you the man you are today.” Joseph taunts, “I made you _Batman._ I made you Bruce. You should be thanking me.”

 

“I could have been better,” Bruce says, stabs his fingers into Joseph’s chest, and feels the throb of his veins on his neck. Anger has never been Bruce’s lover, had never carried her in his heart like Jason did but she was in him just like she was in anyone else and Bruce had to turn away to the potted plants on the outside of the window, and- and watch the small strees that rolled through, and Jason- a small dot in between two trees tossing stones in the cobbles. “My son could have been alive.”

 

And Joseph tilts his head back and laughs, one that comes deep from his belly, one that sucks the air dry from his room, one that makes Bruce close and un close his fist. “You act like you care for the boy, and I don’t know- maybe _you_ do. But, would you even had looked twice at the street trash if you were Bruce _Wayne._ Would you have even cared?”

 

Bruce punches Joseph in the gut then the throat. He can’t kill a dead man, and the thought lodges itself in his throat when he feels his first connect with flesh. Bruce isn’t sadistic, he isn’t the Joker, he’s not a killer- and Bruce pulls himself off the man, does it not because he cares, but because Jason is outside and because he can because in this world, in the afterlife, he finds Jason there, with him the entire way.

 

Maybe he would, Maybe he wouldn’t. Bruce doesn’t want to dwell, doesn’t care too, because he cares now, because now is enough for Bruce at this moment, because now is the only thing Bruce ever truly had.

 

And Joseph gasps for breath when Bruce moves, and Bruce thinks how unlucky it is, that he’s here, that Bruce can never escape him, not even in Death, and that makes him want to punch at the shabby shack till that too falls apart. “I wished I killed you.”

 

And Bruce thinks of his nights, curled in a ball, alone. Thinks of the recitals that Alfred had turned up too, thinks of the thin case of pearls he has on his nightstand and the handkerchief of his father's, he thinks of many things and at the same time thinks of nothing. “I used to wish that you did too.”

 

**Time: 12:03pm**

 

“The next person is the last.” And Jason stares up at him, his eyes are wide, and pressed and he knows what’s he thinking, that Bruce is going to leave him, that Bruce won’t come back till later, and- And Bruce swallows, he’s not leaving without his son, not this time.

 

**Time: 12:32pm**

 

Bruce’s down to one last person, and Jason’s ansty, playing with his fingers, tapping his fingers around his pants, kicking the rocks underneath him, And Bruce thinks that he hasn’t seen this boy this shy since Diana had offered him food. They keep walking, they keep moving and there cornering back to the edge of the beach, back to where there started. And Bruce is tired, he wants to go back, he wants this to end but Jason grins when he sees the lap of the water on the deck and the women sitting beside it.

 

And Bruce is not quick enough to hold the boy back from breaking into a run. He follows after him and the women turns, and she cycle's through faces in each step, never fully getting them correct. Sometimes there's Talia, face held high, and lips pursed, and Sometimes there's Selina, when she knows that she gotten away with something, when she fools Bruce again, and sometimes it's Vicki, when she gets new story, and sometimes it's no one. 

 

“He’s not supposed to be dead,” Jason says, gives Death a look and Death pears at Bruce through hooded eyes, feels her break through his soul, and Bruce swallows, and looks away, and Death nods.

 

“He's right.” And Death pushes herself off of the cafe chairs, presses her head in her arms, and for a moment, Bruce wonders if Death is going to pass out, if he made Death pass out, but she recovers just as quickly, turns to Jason, and taps his nose. He makes a move to dart away and Death laughs, “Thank you for bringing him to me, Jason.”

 

“Uh-huh. ”And Jason eyes flicker between them, recognition in between his iris and the pupils. And he nods, and he runs off, to the edge of the ocean, with the birds, and- and Bruce stares at Death, and Death stares back at him, her face contorted, but soft, like a mother and a warrior in one, and she presses her fingers to Bruce’s arms like Martha had done when she had kissed his cheek.

 

“I will send you back, Bruce Wayne.” She says, press her palm to his like Talia would, and licks her lips like Selena does when she knows her words are harsh, when she knows it will hurt Bruce, when she knows that he needs to hear it and not from himself. “As soon as we are finished.”

 

“Finished?”

 

And Death smiles, and leans forward enough that Bruce can smells pomegranates, wilting roses, and hints of perfume. "When you're ready to go, just walk through-" She points to the ocean, to the waves that pass through each nook and cranny of the boardwalk, "I'll return you, as soon as possible."

 

Bruce hears, what she can not say, what she does not want to say, the choice lies in Bruce's hand, lies in what Bruce wants, and he thinks of sitting and drinking tea with his mother and father, with ruffling through his son's hair, And Bruce thinks of Jason, and he swallows. “And Jason?”

 

“He talks about you all the time,” Death says, and she blinks when she catches Bruce’s face. “That- That is not what you mean isn’t it?”

 

“Can he come with me?”

 

And Death flicks her eyes to the boy, to Jason tying his shoes on the boardwalk, face content with watching the passing of the water, and the setting sun, and the seagulls around his feet burrowing their heads in Jason's lunch  and Death bowes her face close to the ground and shakes her head. “His time had gone, Bruce. He stays here.”

  
And Bruce feel’s something inside of him break. And Death smiles, piercing like Selena’s, warm like Talia’s and an abnormality like Vicki’s. She puts a hand on his shoulders, cusps hard like Alfred would after a long night on patrol and looks him in the eye. And Bruce begs, like the broken man he is. “That’s my- that’s my son -I can’t lose him _again,_ please-”

 

Death is leaving, going back to the wind, and the ground, and this place, this _hell_ and Bruce is trembling underneath her stare, underneath the pity in her eyes, and the way her face contorts to something much softer, and Bruce looks away, and wonders why he can’t swallow down the lump in his throat. “I’m sorry, Bruce. Truly I am.”

 

And Bruce had failed twice, had failed Jason twice.

 

**Time: 12:45pm**

 

“There worried about you up there.” Jason says when Bruce steps close enough, and Bruce swallows, feels the way it lodges in his throat, when he says, "How can you tell?"

 

And Jason shrugs, presses his fingers to the sand, eyes trained on the way they filter through each gap, and says- "I check up on you guys from time to time." And Jason stands, dusts the sand off his knee's and says, “Nothing changes here B,” Jason shrugs, and looks away at the thin current of Gotham’s bay, watches the river claim the abandoned dunes, and castles, the shovels, and the trinkets, the toys and there footprints along with it. Soon, it will claim him too.“That river had the same tide for years.”

 

Time is wasting, but Bruce can not force himself to move, can not force himself to leave and he swallows, stare at the boy, tries to memorize all the small quirks, tries to remember everything that the universe made him forget and says-. “For Life and Death are one. Even as the River and the Sea are One.”

  
And Jason blinks, furrows his eyebrows, and presses his lips together when he says, "Khalil Gibran."

 

“Come home with me, Jay.” Bruce says, and Jason cracks a smile, one that makes Bruce thinks of the time he found all of his ties knotted together before a Gala,  the times he finds Jay spinning in the Bat Chair while he waits, the times he tells Robin that he was a good partner, and the times he tells Jason that he has always been a good son and Bruce might be a taking Father but he has the chance to redeem himself, he needs the _chance_ to redeem himself-“We can find a way-”

 

“Nah, B. I - I died a long time ago. I get that now. That’s where my story ended.” But it didn’t need to, Bruce thinks, if he had been stronger, if Batman had been quicker, if he had just showed Jason that he had cared a little bit more, if he had pushed his training just a little bit harder, Jason wouldn’t be here. “But yours don’t. You still have people up there that care about you. Damian, Tim, and Dick, Alfred and Cass, and- You’re life is up there.”

 

“Alfred cares- and Dick- And” Jason moves away, looks away, and Bruce runs his hand through his hair, feels the knots and the crevices and Bruce knows he’s losing, knows that Jason won’t go, can’t go and for the second time in Bruce’s life, Batman loses. “When will we - I come back?”

 

And Jason shrugs, presses his lips together, and puts his hands on his hips like he used to do as Robin when Two-Face had showed him his car, when Harley had stuck gum in his hair and when Bruce had told Robin he was benched until further notice. “I-I don’t know. Hopefully not anytime soon.”

 

“I will miss you, partner.” And Jason laughs and waggled his eyebrows when he catches Bruce’s face and says, “It felt good to be back as a duo, Batman”

 

And Bruce feels something in him, break, something he can’t repair, something he doesn’t know how and Bruce wraps his arms around Jason, feels the solid body against his, and Bruce buries his face in the boy’s curls, and thinks, _I never stopped loving you, I never stopped-_ and Bruce feels Jason arms around him -and-“It was nice seeing you, Dad.”

 

**Time: 12:55pm**

 

The water is cold, harsh against his skin, it stings against the leftover of Jason’s hug, but he has to keep moving forward, for Dick, for Damian, for Alfred, for Tim, for Steph, for Cass, for the son he left behind-for the son he will get to see someday soon. For them.

**Author's Note:**

> This is the end, go grab some water, take a breather, go outside, before you continue on the big Jason binge. You can catch me on tumblr @natashasromansoff, if you just want to chat.


End file.
